


who would have thot

by Deisderium



Series: food for thot [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cross-Cryptid Romance, Dragon Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Holidays, Hotel Sex, M/M, OMG They're Still Roommates, Vampire Bucky Barnes, flight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: It starts, of course, with Becca.Bucky isn't sure how he thought he could hide the nature of his condition from his family for terribly long—especially his wonderful, but also very nosy, sister.It's not like he's going to just come out and tell them that he's a vampire now. He can only imagine how that conversation would go. "Hey. How's it going? I know I haven't been to visit in a while, and we haven't talked except after sunset, but there's a reason for that. I'm a vampire. Some rando bit me in an alley months ago. Surprise! Your son as you knew him is technically dead."*In which Bucky tries to navigate the holidays as a vampire.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: food for thot [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1520840
Comments: 48
Kudos: 233





	who would have thot

It starts, of course, with Becca.

Bucky isn't sure how he thought he could hide the nature of his condition from his family for terribly long—especially his wonderful, but also very nosy, sister.

It's not like he's going to just come out and tell them that he's a vampire now. He can only imagine how that conversation would go. "Hey. How's it going? I know I haven't been to visit in a while, and we haven't talked except after sunset, but there's a reason for that. I'm a vampire. Some rando bit me in an alley months ago. Surprise! Your son as you knew him is technically dead."

No. The very thought of it makes him shudder. Much easier to just dodge their calls until he can't anymore, and then lie about the hours at his new job (which, to be clear, he doesn’t have,) to make excuses for both why he can't visit and why he suddenly can never talk in the morning.

It's far, far easier to fill them in on his relationship with Steve. Everyone's excited about that, and he can hear his mother's squeal of "finally!" over the phone, even though, in theory, he’s only talking to his dad. He and Steve have to suffer through rounds of over-enthusiastic congratulations, but when he thinks about it, that's certainly much better than the alternative.

Getting out of Thanksgiving dinner is much more of a challenge. Bucky can still drink things besides blood, but the thought of eating more than a couple of bites of food fills him with revulsion, and he doesn't think that Thanksgiving dinner at his mother's table is the best place to find out what happens when vampires throw up. He whines about it to Steve, because he whines about everything to Steve, and Steve just splays his big, warm hand over the small of Bucky's back and rubs it up and down comfortingly.

"Maybe you could tell them you were sick," he offers. "You could say you have food poisoning."

"Maybe," Bucky says dubiously. That might work for one holiday dinner, but unless he wants to cut off his family completely, it won't work for too long. The thought of never seeing them again turns his stomach, but so does the thought of admitting what he is. He's gone from being a reasonably good son to a creature of darkness who lives off sex and blood. As much as he can't stand the thought of telling his family what he is, the thought of them looking at him differently is even worse. Not to be completely dramatic, but his undead ass might die the rest of the way if he has to see revulsion on his mother's face when she looks at him.

So he makes an excuse about Thanksgiving, and suffers under the weight of George and Winifred's combined disappointments. His father's quiet, "You're upsetting your mother, you know," almost makes him fold, but he sticks with his story and stays strong.

Stay strong, that is, until Winifred's quiet question: "But you'll be here for Christmas, right?" To which he finds himself promising yes, anything, he will—anything to get the disappointment out of her voice.

"What have I done?" he laments to his large, handsome boyfriend. The note of self-pity and regret in his voice is somewhat balanced out by the fact that he is currently sprawled mostly on top of Steve on the couch in their living room, and Steve is running his hands up and down Bucky's sides. They have passed a delightful interlude of fucking and feeding, which are basically the same thing for Bucky these days, and Bucky absently slides a little higher up Steve's chest so that he can lick a trickle of blood off his throat.

Steve hums contentedly and pulls him a little tighter.

"I don't know what to tell you, Buck," he says. "Have you thought about telling them the truth about what happened?"

"I have thought about it," Bucky confesses, "which is why I probably won't do it. I just don't want to think about the look on mom's face when I tell her." Everyone has the story of a friend of a friend of a friend, or their neighbor’s third cousin, or that kid you vaguely remember from middle school who got turned into a vampire, but vampires are so rare and little-known, there are some people who don't believe in them at all. Bucky had never really thought about it one way or another, until he was forced to, and he has no idea where his family members fall on the spectrum or belief or disbelief. 

"Maybe I should," Bucky says, in the tone of voice meant to indicate to both of them that he really thinks he shouldn't.

"Just think about it," Steve murmurs, his voice resonating in his chest along with the solid thump of his heart beneath Bucky's ear.

"I will," Bucky promises.

And he does, and every time he thinks about it, he thinks what a terrible idea it would be. He’s already come out to his family once, and gotten really lucky with how they reacted; it feels like tempting fate to hope for as good a resolution the second time. He resolves, again, to just keep it to himself, to lie and improvise and figure out a way to keep his family in his life—unlife—but safe from the uncomfortable truth of who he is, now.

Or at least, that's his plan. He really should know better than to think that there's much he could keep from his mother, or God forbid, his sister.

It's perhaps a week after Thanksgiving, and the sun has been down for about an hour. Steve has made himself a meal of steak and spinach and lentils, everything rich in iron and in quantities to satisfy a dragon's appetite. Bucky is planning on having _his_ meal a little later, and then the two of them have an exciting evening of making out and catching up on shows planned. It's how most of their nights go, and Bucky really couldn't be happier with this routine.

But just as Steve has finished the dishes and the two of them are settling in to watch a girl and her friends make their way through an aboveground landscape of giant wonder beasts, there's a knock on their apartment door.

Bucky and Steve look at each other. They aren't expecting anyone, and among their social circle, it's considered the polite thing to do to give a heads up before dropping by.

"I'll get the door," Steve says mildly, and Bucky knows that if it's anything or anyone malicious, Steve will take care of the problem. Bucky could take care of any problems, too. He's a vampire, and he has been assured by popular media that vampires are scary. But if Steve wants to puff up and be protective, who is Bucky to argue? There's nothing wrong with Bucky leaning back on the couch and watching Steve's wide shoulders and tight ass as he walks over to the door to be a guard between Bucky and the world.

Bucky certainly isn't expecting Steve's surprised, "Becca?" And he freezes in a way that he wouldn't if it were, oh, a vampire hunter with stakes and garlic, or whatever Steve thinks might be there to menace him.

"Is Bucky there?" Bucky's sister says, and it's too late to pretend that he's not. She pushes Steve to the side and says, "Bucky," in a tone of voice that lands somewhere on the border between pleased and accusatory, already shrugging out of her coat.

"Hey, Becca," Bucky says guiltily. He doesn't have a pulse anymore, but if he did, it would be pounding in his throat. He feels the same sort of fight or flight response that he had when bitten by the vampire that turned him, months ago. It's not fair to Becca, but then, nothing about this is fair.

"I was starting to think you only existed as a collection of pixels on my phone screen," Becca says, and plops down on the couch next to him.

"What are you doing in our neck of the woods?" Bucky blurts out, and hopes that he doesn't sound like he's asking why the hell she's here, even though that is, in fact, what he's asking.

"I hadn't seen you in a while," she says. "I miss our coffee dates."

They're both busy, and catching up once or twice a month and getting all the gossip on what's been going on in each other's lives has been a staple of their adulthood since they ended up in the same part of town. In any other circumstances—him not being a vampire circumstances—she would've fully expected to get all the details about his getting together with Steve. "I miss them too," Bucky says guiltily. "My new job's been a mess. Once things calm down, we could do them again? Only maybe change the time a little bit."

"Whatever," Becca says. "I don't care, as long as I see you. Mom said she thinks you developed an exciting new drug habit, except we all know that Steve wouldn't let you."

"Becca—" Bucky can't think what to say. She's not entirely wrong; he _had_ picked up an exciting new drug habit, and also an exciting new drinking-to-excess habit, and an exciting new casual sex habit as well along with his vampirism, but she was right in that Steve hadn't let him get stuck in those habits. Although Steve would have, if that's what Bucky had needed. But the thought of explaining all that to his sister, much less his mother, is completely exhausting and draining. "I've had a rough few months," is what he says instead.

"I can tell," his loving, annoying sister says. Her all-too perceptive eyes rest on his pale face, his slender shoulders beneath the thick cabled sweater that was a gift from Steve. "You're not getting enough sun. I don't think I've seen you this pale since that unfortunate emo phase in your teens."

"Becca," Bucky complains, and Steve snorts a laugh.

"I liked your emo phase," he says hastily when Bucky glares at him.

"You liked his every phase," Becca says. "It's disgusting."

"Nah, you like it," Steve says, and leans over and drops a kiss on Bucky's cheek.

"Do you mind if I grab some water or something? I'm thirsty," Becca says rather than dignify that with an answer.

"What would you like?" Steve says. "We've got tea or coke, or I think we have some wine or beer if you want."

"Water is fine," Becca says, also standing up. "I'll get it. I know where everything is." She opens the door to… Bucky's room. 

"That's not the kitchen," Bucky says, irritated.

"Interesting decor choices with these curtains," Becca singsongs from Bucky's room. "Quite a look."

"Yeah," Bucky says. He'd be sweating if he could. "Work's been crazy, and I've been trying to grab sleep whenever I can."

Becca comes back out. "No drug kits left on your dresser or your bedside table, so that's good at least."

"You're being a shit," Bucky says, actually annoyed now.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Bucky," Becca snaps. "Mom and Dad and I have all been really worried about you, and you won't come see any of us, you hardly call compared to how you used to—what are we supposed to think?"

"I'm sorry, Becca. It's just—"

"Your new job, yeah, sure." Becca gives him an unimpressed look. "You haven't exactly been forthcoming about that, either! I was joking—mostly joking—about you picking up a drug habit, but for all I know you're into something really shady."

Bucky feels guilty. God, he feels guilty, but what can he do? Becca is not wrong to be worried, and he knows he changed basically all of his habits in a short period of time, but he doesn't know what to do about it either. Steve sits next to him, a warm, solid weight pushed up against him, silently offering his support.

"Some things have been rough lately," Bucky says, and makes himself take a breath. It's true, even though he doesn't usually think about it, because all of the good things have really overshadowed the rough parts, but it's not easy changing his entire life, having it turned upside down against his will, and if good things have come of it, it doesn't mean that it didn't suck—pun absolutely intended.

Becca's expression softens, the hard line of her mouth loosening into something less angry but sadder. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Even if you feel like you can't talk to mom and dad about whatever it is, you can always talk to me. I won't tell them if you asked me not to."

"Oh, Becca," Bucky says, and to his horror, he thinks he's about to cry. Becca sits down on the other side of him from Steve and wraps her arms around him. He lets himself melt into her embrace, just for a little, and even remembers to make himself breathe throughout.

"God, Bucky, you're freezing," she says. "Are you sick? Is that why you look so pale?"

"I'm not sick," he assures her, even though he supposes that that's the closest analog to what he is. He pulls away from Becca, and lets himself feel Steve's warm hand on the small of his back, comfort and reassurance all in one. "I'll see you at Christmas, okay? We can start our weekly coffee dates up again after that."

"I guess," she says, sniffling a little. "Just—call mom and dad more often, okay? They're really worried." 

Becca leaves, and Bucky and Steve stare at each other for a moment, before Bucky releases a sigh that comes from so deep within him that it may have originated in his toes. "Well, that was..." He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't know how.

"Whatever you want to do," Steve says, "I want to help however I can."

And Bucky can't lie; it helps, knowing that.

🧛

So Bucky has basically three weeks to try and figure out a way to get out of Christmas, or at the very least figure out how to cover up the fact that he's the walking undead (the sexy kind, not the gross kind, thank god) and it's a sign of his desperation that he turns to the vampire community to figure things out.

The problem is not that there isn't a vampire community in New York; it's that he really wants nothing at all to do with them. The way he caught vampirism was frankly not super fun, and it didn't leave him feeling terribly supported by the dick who bit him or any other vampires, although to be fair, which he doesn't feel like being, he hasn't exactly reached out to other vampires, and he doesn't actually know if there's a vampire community as such.

Which leaves him in the unfortunate predicament of needing to talk to a vampire, but being the only vampire he knows.

"How do you even find a vampire?" he complains to Natasha.

They're at their favorite dive. It's absolutely not hipster, not up-trend, and Bucky has never tried to find a meal there, which makes it a perfect place for them to go to relax. There's outdoor seating, and the two of them are seated at a round table sort of hidden from everyone else by small potted trees ringed in brightly colored Christmas lights that stay on the trees all year round. They're the only people outside, because it's fucking cold, but Bucky no longer feels the cold, and Natasha as a firebird is her own protection against the cold—she's the opposite of Bucky, in that he's not bothered by the cold because he's dead, and she's not bothered because she's her own source of heat. It means they have absolute privacy for Bucky to discuss his problem, which is by no means the stupidest problem he's brought to Natasha over the years.

"I don't know what to tell you," Natasha says gently. "It's different for firebirds. I know every firebird in New York, the ones who were in my clutch, and the ones who weren't. But I don't know that vampires tend to stay in one place that long. And if you wanted to find the one who turned you, I have no idea how to do that."

"No," Bucky says firmly. If there's one thing he's sure of, it's that he doesn't want to see that asshole again. He's mad that the guy turned him against his will, but he's even more mad that, having turned him, he didn't even bother to stick around and explain anything whatsoever about vampires. It had been, "Here's how you feed, watch out for the sun, don't worry about garlic except that you won’t really be able to eat it again," and that was pretty much it. The rest, Bucky had been left to figure out on his own, and he's just thankful that he has Steve because otherwise he thinks he might've completely lost his shit by now.

"Okay," Natasha says gently. "We won't look for him."

"But there are other vampires," Bucky says, a little desperately. "Ones that aren't so terrible. Surely they can't all be like this guy, right?"

"I'll see what I can find out," Natasha says.

Three days later, she delivers on her promise. She calls Bucky with a name and an address, and if at first Bucky thinks she's joking, he doesn't think he can be blamed for that. He calls first, because he feels unsure about the etiquette of showing up unannounced and doesn't want to find out what happens when vampires fight. The woman who answers the phone makes an appointment for him without question, and without worrying about the fact that the appointment is for after dark. But then, if the man he's going to meet is what he's supposed to be, then Bucky guesses she's probably used to it.

Steve insists on accompanying Bucky to his appointment, and who is Bucky to deny him? Bucky doesn't think Steve even noticed the way he growled when Bucky mentions that he was going to meet another vampire. So the two of them find themselves at the door of the Wakandan embassy slightly before five thirty p.m. Bucky doesn't know that he's ever been so punctual for a meeting before, but the fact of the matter is that he's anxious and finds himself with the conflicting feelings of wanting to make a good impression on the second other vampire he's ever met, and angry at himself for caring enough to want to make a good impression.

He fed on Steve before he left, because the last thing he wants to be at this meeting is hungry or horny or both. And Steve is so good about giving him what he needs, about making sure that he never wants for anything, so he's full and in the most possible control by the time they get there.

They buzz at the door and are invited in. There is a young man behind the front desk. He introduces himself as N'Jadaka **,** and Bucky did enough reading about Wakanda after he made the appointment that his eyebrows leap up into his forehead without his conscious thought. This man is a prince, or something like it.

"Your Highness?" he asks more than says.

"Don't worry about that," the man says, his eyes flicking between Bucky and Steve. He has an American accent, not like whoever Bucky spoke to on the phone, and he's human, or at least, not a vampire. There had been something of a sensation a few years ago when the lost prince of Wakanda had been united with his family, which Bucky only vaguely remembered until he refreshed the details on Wikipedia the night before, but if the prince has spent more time in Wakanda than in the states since then, you can't tell it in his voice. "You can call me Eric."

"Thanks," Bucky says. "I'm Bucky, and this is Steve."

"You're the one who wanted to see M'Baku," the prince—Eric—says, honing in unerringly on Bucky. "And you—" His eyebrows go up, looking at Steve. "We are honored."

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance. "I'm here with him," Steve says.

"I'm sure there's a story there," Eric murmurs, but then he shakes his head and comes out from behind the desk. "I'll take you to Lord M'Baku."

Bucky makes note of the "lord" and the two of them follow him, Steve a warm, comforting presence at his back. Even if this sucks and Lord M'Baku is as big of a dick as the jerk who turned Bucky, Steve is with him, and as long as that's the case, nothing can go too wrong.

Eric leads them back to a windowless office, not immense, but lushly appointed. The walls are inlaid in a geometric pattern, brightly colored, and the furniture is a dark, solid wood that seems to glow as Bucky looks at it. There is a small statue of a gorilla on the desk, of some dark metal that Bucky doesn't recognize.

"A gift from my cousin, the king," comes a deep voice from the shadows. Bucky hadn't even been aware that anyone was standing there. The man who steps out is the largest man that Bucky's ever seen. He's bigger and broader even than Steve, which is saying something. His voice has a similar accent to the woman Bucky talked to on the phone, but much, much deeper. His dark skin gleams in the low lights. He is, unquestionably, a vampire.

Bucky can sense the life flowing in living creatures, sense their blood. It freaked him out at first, but now it's become part of the almost unconscious way he sizes up another person when he meets them for the first time. And he can usually tell when he's in the presence of another supernatural creature. Steve's magic feels like sunlight on his skin, and he's more sensitive to it now that he's been steadily feeding off of him, but as he's learned to pay attention to his vampire senses, he can feel the fire in Natasha as well, the red magic around Wanda like an aura. He feels power pouring off M'Baku as well, but it's a cold, dark power, and he wonders if this is, in some small way, how he feels to other magical creatures. He doubts he's anything as powerful as this man, though, and if he had to guess, he would bet that Lord M'Baku is much, much older than he is.

"Lord M'Baku, I presume," Bucky says. "Thank you for seeing me."

"No need to stand on ceremony," M'Baku says. "You may call me M'Baku. It's rare for one such as yourself to seek out one such as me."

"Should I not have called on you?" Bucky says, suddenly very anxious that he's overstepped some vampire boundary he didn't know about.

"It depends on what you want from me," M'Baku says. He sits down at his desk, and gestures to two chairs on the other side of it. Bucky and Steve take their seats, and Bucky tries to think of a concise way to explain his situation.

"I was bitten a few months ago," Bucky says. "The man who bit me didn't stick around to explain very much, just told me a couple of things about feeding and then left. I've had to figure it out on my own, and I'm lucky I've had Steve to help me. But my family doesn't know about what happened to me, and I guess I was wondering—I was hoping—that a more experienced vampire might be able to tell me how to keep them from finding out what I am."

Bucky takes a breath that he doesn't need, and waits.

M'Baku watches him, his brow furrowed, his fingers steepled, thoughtful. "I'm not sure how to help you," he says slowly. "Things are very different in Wakanda. Creatures such as we are no secret there, and had you been made among my people, there would have been weeks of celebration with your old family and your new, months and years before that in which you would've learned what it was you were truly accepting. There would be no need to hide, because among the Jabari, it would be an honor to be made part of my court." His frown deepens. "It does not sound like there was much question of you accepting this gift."

"No," Bucky says. "I just thought it was going to be, uh, well. I thought it was going to be a club hookup until he bit me, and I think what happened was he drank too quickly and then panicked, and turned me instead of killing me."

M'Baku sits up straighter, his expression thunderous. "Absolutely unacceptable. Such a thing would be an unforgivable crime in Wakanda, and I find it hard to believe that this man's people would let him loose like that. Do you know his name? Do you know who his clan is?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I think he told me what his name was, but I don’t remember. Honestly, I was in shock."

"It seems likely that you would be," M'Baku says disapprovingly. "But it's a shame that you don't know who made you."

"I don't know any other vampires," Bucky says. "I don't know how to find them or where I'd start looking. That's why I got in touch with you."

"You want me to help you find American vampires?" M'Baku says.

Bucky shakes his head. "I really just wanted advice on how to keep my family from finding out what I am."

M'Baku looks at him. "It's very easy to hide what we are from a casual observer. But from someone who knows you well, someone who loves you?" He shakes his head and looks at Steve. "How long did it take you to realize what he was question

"I knew something was different immediately."

M'Baku shrugs. "It will be the same with your family. I think you should do as my people do, and celebrate with them. You have missed your opportunity to feast, which is a pity; part of the reason that we do it is in celebration of a new vampire joining our court, but part of it is to give them time to eat all the foods they love before they give them up forever."

"That sounds wonderful," Bucky says wistfully. The last thing he'd eaten before he'd been turned was three day old leftover Chinese food, and sadly not from the good place. He’s tasted Steve’s food now and then since being turned, but while he can get the flavor of it, it’s not the same as it used to be. It never stirs up hunger in him anymore, for one thing; that’s reserved for other things, now. 

"We can mimic the living for a short time, but not for very long, and if you keep seeing them, they will age and you will not. It's best to pull that band-aid off now, because the longer you lie to them, the harder it will be to tell the truth, and yet, the more obvious the truth will become."

"Thank you," Bucky says, not because M'Baku's advice was helpful—it wasn't, not for what he wanted, not really—but because he's genuinely grateful to have met another vampire who's not a complete asshole and a terrible mess.

M'Baku stands, and Bucky and Steve follow suit. "You are always welcome here," M'Baku says. "I am in residence only very infrequently, but if you have other questions, the people here will always know how to contact me."

"Thank you," Bucky says again. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

🧛

Steve doesn't push, but Bucky can tell that he agrees with M'Baku; he thinks Bucky should go ahead and just tell his family what's happened to him. But Bucky knows Steve will never put pressure on him. Steve will always support whatever it is he chooses to do. He dithers back and forth, and thinks about it so much that he's sick of his own repetitive train of thought, but for all his frantic thinking, he hasn't come to any particular revelation. He's going to brazen it out, he thinks, and try to pretend like nothing's changed. He's going to tell them he's got food poisoning, and since Becca thinks he looks sick anyway, maybe that will add to the illusion.

They're coming over for Christmas Eve dinner. Winifred wanted them to stay through Christmas day, but Bucky just can't think of how he could possibly hide the fact that he physically can't wake up while the sun's out, even though Winifred is so convincing that she could probably argue a snake into buying shoes. Somehow he had remained strong, though, even though no one was happy with him.

Bucky is sweating bullets the twenty-fourth. His family usually has a big family dinner, and the all important exchange of the sibling presents, a time-honored tradition going back to the early days of their childhood when George and Winifred had really just wanted them to calm down so they could go to bed on Christmas Eve. That one gift would occupy them for the evening, and help get them in bed. These days, they are much more likely to put themselves to bed at a reasonable hour, but the tradition remains, and he and Becca always tried to get each other something either extra special or extra funny for Christmas Eve.

Bucky gets himself ready for the holiday meal by first sating his own hunger at home, getting Steve off with his mouth and hands, then drinking deeply from Steve while Steve gets him off, and ending with a lazy round of tender hand jobs that had done as much or nearly as much to feed Bucky as Steve's blood.

Since Steve and Bucky couldn't figure out a way to stay for Christmas morning or how to explain Bucky's inability to rouse himself from sleep, he will exchange presents with his parents as well, and for this purpose, both he and Steve are loaded with bags and boxes as they take the subway to his parents’ neighborhood.

Bucky has also dressed with especial care. He's picked a dark green sweater that flatters his coloring, and a pair of charcoal gray tailored slacks that his mom will like better than any of his collection of skinny jeans. He styled his hair carefully, relying on Steve in place of a mirror, and as far as he's concerned, there's not much more that he can do to make himself look presentable.

Steve is also looking downright delectable, not that that's unusual. He has on a thick cream cable-knit sweater and khaki pants, which he somehow makes work, mainly by virtue of having a body that very little looks bad on, and although he didn't spend much time on his hair and beard, both look incredibly touchably soft, and Bucky thinks that he could be all too easily persuaded to dig his hands in and mess it up again. They both put on heavy coats and get their bags and go to catch the subway. Bucky's anxiety ratchets up, the closer the train takes them to his parents' neighborhood. He can feel himself spiraling tighter and tighter, and then Steve leans in to him, and he cups his hand over Bucky's knee and squeezes, and that little touch does more to ground him than anything else could.

"It's going to be okay," Steve says softly, and oh, how Bucky wants to believe him.

They walk from their stop to his parents’ place, a cozy little townhouse only a few blocks from the subway stop. It's plenty of room for the two Barneses that still live there, and the room that Bucky would be staying in, if they were staying, also doubles as a home office the rest of the time.

Becca, as the sole remaining good child, has claimed the other guest room, the one where she won't be sleeping on an air mattress. It's good, and Bucky doesn't begrudge her that, but he's kind of sad that he'll be leaving before they can fight about it, which is how he knows that holiday sentimentality is really getting to him.

They walk up the steps, and Bucky braces himself and knocks on the door. It's flung open by Becca, who has a Christmas hat on and a glass of wine in the hand not holding onto the door. "Bucky," she says, and she doesn't exactly slur, but there's a suggestion of champagne about the way she enunciates. "You made it!" She flings the door open wider and gives him a big hug, and he pulls her tight to his chest, hoping that any cold she feels on his coat or his hands will be attributed to the weather, not him.

"Is that them?" Winifred's voice comes from further back in the house. "Come in, both of you.".

He and Steve trundle in the door, laden with packages, and in quick succession are divested of their coats and gloves, given hugs and glasses of champagne, and instructed to put the presents under the tree, which they do. It's all the usual holiday madcap rush, and Bucky doesn't have time to feel awkward.

Not, that is, until everything is put away and they all sit down around the fireplace, and his mother leans in. "Bucky, you look good," she says, and her voice wobbles in a way that makes him want to cry too. "Steve, you too. We've said it over the phone, but I want to say it in person, too: we're so, so happy for both of you." She raises her champagne flute and they all toast to Steve and Bucky's happiness, and Bucky's heart manages to be both full and heavy at the same time, all while still undead. 

"Thank you," Bucky manages, feeling himself on the verge of tears yet again.

"So tell us about this new job that's been keeping you so busy," George says. Bucky's father has an open, kind face, the corners of his mouth bracketed with deep lines, and his forehead a little marked by worry, but the corners of his eyes telling of years spent laughing. His dark hair is thickly streaked with gray, which is a distinguished look that Bucky has secretly thought for about the last ten years will look excellent on him, although now, he supposes he doesn't know that it will.

Bucky had at least thought a little bit about what he would say to this, since his excuse for how absent he's been has been his job, and the truth of the matter is he's been doing nothing beyond a little freelance copywriting that he picked up. His nights are much more involved with being Steve's kept man and amusing himself, but that's not what he's going to tell his family, for goodness sake. Apart from the whole vampire thing, if they had even a suggestion of a thought of just how much sex he and Steve are having, he would have to personally die.

"It's a copywriting position with a tech company with a pretty robust nondisclosure agreements," he says. "They got rid of their previous copywriters, so the new group is trying to catch up and get everything back on track." He's proud of this particular lie; it's vague enough to tell them nothing in particular, but sounds plausible, he thinks, and fancy enough that maybe they won't do too much digging.

"Ooh," Becca says. "Which company?"

“Stark Industries," Bucky says, which is a boldfaced lie, but he couldn't think of a reason why even the name of the company would be part of an NDA, and it's big and in New York, so hopefully, it's plausible. Becca raises an eyebrow, but Bucky did his research; SI is a big enough company that no one could really say what all happens there or who works there. Technical copywriter is such a broad job description that he could be in any number of departments, and the theoretical NDA ought to cover a lot of ground, or so he hopes.

"Kind of a change from that nonprofit you were working for," Becca mutters.

Bucky shrugs. "It's a step up, and I wanted a challenge." It's not exactly a lie—he would have wanted a challenge, had one come along ,and he had been bored at his position with the nonprofit. He's already sick of his own lies, though.

George pours them all another glass of champagne, and Winifred brings out a charcuterie platter that would have looked amazing to Bucky six months ago. He sips his bubbly instead, glad that he can at least still drink, and takes a slice of sausage and cracker to pick at. He can't stomach much solid food, but he can eat some—enough that he'll be able to at least taste whatever his parents put in front of him. It's not the same as being able to gorge himself the way he used to, and he's sad about that. But now that he is what he is, there's no way he'd give up feeding on Steve, even if he could; and it's not like he has any way of backing out of it, anyhow.

Becca has been working at a travel agency while she looks for a job that will let her use her degre, and she has some funny stories about dealing with clients. Winifred is retired now, so she no longer has stories about her students, but she's been keeping herself busy with various clubs and groups that she volunteers with or participates in, and while she's been urging George to retire, he hasn't followed her lead yet. They talk and sip champagne, and Bucky slowly eats his cracker, and hopes he won't regret it.

He can't quite believe that everyone is just taking all of this in stride, but he consoles himself with the fact that maybe they're just happy to see him after not seeing him for a while. He can't quite believe that they're sitting so easily with a vampire in their midst, and he thinks that maybe M’Baku was wrong—maybe the people who love you will also be willing to lie to themselves, if it means they get to hold onto you a little bit longer.

Winifred clears away hors d'oeuvres, and tells them all to go into the dining room.

The table is set with the good China and the fancy glasses, and the angel candlestick holders that Winnifred puts out every year. The candle light flickers off the crystal and gleams on the silver, reflected in the antique mirror hanging on the far wall, and Bucky swallows a lump in his throat that nostalgia has put there and sits down to the table.

Everyone sits where Winifred directs them—she always has a seating plan, in her mind if not set out in place cards or anything like that. When Bucky had come out to her at the tender age of fifteen, she had embraced and accepted him immediately, waiting until Thanksgiving to say that the only downside to him loving men was that it interfered with her seating chart.

The Barnes's Christmas fare is the same every year, more or less: they always get a ham, and little yeast rolls that are delicious on their own but even better, in Bucky's opinion, with a few slices of ham and some vegetables added on, string bean casserole, some form of potato, usually mashed with extra things stirred in, like sour cream or cheese or green onions or all of the above, some kind of squash, and a salad. More food, really, then they can possibly eat, even with Steve at the table, and especially given that lately Bucky is on a strictly liquid diet.

Bucky takes a little bit of everything, wishing with all his heart that he could actually eat it. The sausage and cracker from earlier is already sitting a little uneasily in his stomach, but he can at least get down a few bites of everything while his parents are watching him.

George bows his head and says grace, and Bucky bows his head too, trying not to feel weird about it. He doesn't think he's any more evil than he was before he was bitten, but it's hard not to think that feeding on other people's blood is at least a little uncool, although Bucky hasn't had any adverse reactions to religious symbols or prayers, although he hasn't really tested the whole holy water thing. But he doesn’t erupt into fire or anything as his family prays, so that's all right, anyway.

"Amen," Bucky's father says, and he mumbles amen along with the rest of the family.

"Now let's eat," George says briskly, the same way he does every year, and for a moment there are no sounds besides the clink of silver on plates and the rustle of napkins unfolding. Bucky takes a tiny bite of his ham, and then a somewhat larger sip of his wine. The wine at least he can drink, and although it'll still make him tipsy, it's getting harder and harder for him to really get drunk, or at least it seems to require a much greater volume of alcohol. Steve is helpful, stealing bites off his plate when no one's looking.

"How's the food, Bucky?" Becca says with a strange intensity. 

"Everything is delicious," he says. "I have a case of food poisoning the day before yesterday, and my stomach's a little upset, but everything's really good."

"Really," Becca says, and takes another gulp of her own wine. Bucky’s starting to feel a little panicked, whether because Becca is being weird, or because of the absolute guilt of knowing ninety percent of what's coming out of his mouth is lies. Under the table, Steve squeezes his knee.

"Rebecca," Winifred murmurs disapprovingly.

"Come on," Becca says. "Are we going to just sit here and pretend like everything's okay? Are we going to ask like Bucky didn't just disappear off the face of the earth for months?"

"Rebecca," George says, a little more sharply than Winifred had. "If James wants to talk about it, he'll talk about it."

"Fine," Becca snaps, and throws back the rest of her wine, then refills the glass. It's not even really a fight, but Bucky can't stand the fact that he's the cause of Becca's upset, that he's making his sister unhappy at Christmas.

He takes a deep breath, and then empties his own wine glass. "As it turns out, I do have something to tell you," he says. Steve's hand on his knee tightens, and he can feel Steve looking at him, probably, if he were to guess ready to support him however this goes. "I haven't been completely honest with you. I—"

"James," his mother says, so gently. "You don't have to tell us anything that you're not ready to. Just know that we love you, and we are here for you, no matter what. We raised a good man, and I know that you're not doing anything that you wouldn't be able to look at yourself in the mirror about." Becca bursts into an ugly laugh at that. Winifred glares at her and rolls her eyes. "I mean, you wouldn't do anything that made it so you couldn't respect yourself."

Bucky takes a deep breath and tries to think of what he could possibly say. He's not exactly sure what his mom's trying to hint at, and Steve's fingers are digging into his thigh. He glances up and sees Becca glaring at him, but his gaze traveled past her to the candlelight flickering in the old antique mirror, and all of his family reflected there except him. Becca follows his gaze, then jerks her head away as though she's been caught doing something she shouldn't—but she doesn't gasp in horror, or jump up from her chair and ask how he's doing it, or anything like that, and that's when it hits Bucky like the proverbial ton of bricks: somehow, they all know already. They’re trying to make it easy for him, they're dancing around the vampire in the room because they don't want to upset him, the monster in their midst.

"You all already know, don't you?" Bucky says. Three pairs of guilty eyes meet his, and one pair that's just as confused as he is. "You didn't say anything to them did you?" he asks Steve, although he knows the answer before Steve shakes his head.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Buck," Steve says. 

"We're not entirely stupid," Becca says, "and you're not subtle at all. You only talk to us at night? You're barely eating. You have blackout curtains over all the windows in your bedroom at your apartment. Steve had marks in his neck when I came over!"

Bucky puts hand over his eyes, more embarrassed than he cares to admit. He was wrong before, and M'Baku was right; you can't fool the people who love you, not for very long.

"There's no garlic in any of the food," Winifred says anxiously, "and I did some research about prayers and crosses so we wouldn't hurt you. The Vampire-Human Alliance—"

"Mom," Bucky says. "You don't even know if Bucky wants you to do that."

"You all knew," he says again, and even he can't tell if he's going to laugh or cry.

"If you wanted to keep it secret, you should have been less obvious," Becca says waspishly.

Winifred just smiles at him and his father reaches over the table to take his cold hand. He can feel the life beating beneath his skin, but it doesn't make him feel like he wants to attack them or anything; it's just another way of looking at them, the pulse of his father's life against his skin, a love that not only accepts every twist and turn in Bucky's life so far, but trusts that he won't become someone unrecognizable to himself just because his life has been so radically changed.

"I can't imagine what it feels like, or how frightening it must've been," his father says. "But just know that we love you."

Bucky does cry then, but it's all right; the rest of his family is just as prone to waterworks as he is, and they end up sniffling over dessert, and then retiring to the living room with coffee or brandy or both, in Winifred's case, and exchanging gifts in front of the twinkling lights of the tree.

"Next time, you can stay, if you want," Winifred says as she bundles Bucky and Steve into their coats, both of them laden with Christmas presents. "We'll get some of those curtains that Becca saw at your house."

Bucky pulls her into his arms. "You can't make me start crying again, it feels like I just stopped," he complains.

She kisses his cheek, and in her brown eyes, he sees love—and maybe a little bit of worry, but mostly love. She wraps Steve into a hug too and says, "You boys take care of each other." There are more hugs, and Bucky promises that he won't stay away so long anymore, and extracts a promise from Becca that they'll start doing late-night coffee dates instead of branches after the new year.

It started snowing while they were inside, and there's a light dusting of white on the pavement as they walk towards the subway.

"That went a lot better than I thought it would," Bucky says.

"I wasn't surprised," Steve says, and the two of them walk toward home under softly falling snowflakes.

🧛

The days between Christmas and New Year's have always felt like a little bit of a liminal time to Bucky, even when he was working, and much more so now that he's a vampire. His few copywriting jobs are not due until well after the holidays, and as for his being Steve's kept vampire, well, he's naturally very good at that.

He writes M'Baku, care of the Wakandan embassy, telling him that he was right.

He spends a lot more time talking to his parents and his sister, and while his parents don't really want the details, Becca wants to know all about what it's like to be a vampire, and how he and Steve make it work. He doesn't tell her that Steve is a dragon, and toward the end of the conversation she asks, "Is Steve okay, though? If you have to drink that much from him…"

"He's fine," Bucky says. "We talked to a doctor—" Well, he'd talked to Wanda about it. "—And it's all right as long as I'm careful. And I will be careful—I wouldn't do anything to hurt Steve."

"I know that," she says. "You’re still my brother. And—look, if you were really a scary vampire, you wouldn't be the kind of mess who so obviously head over heels for the guy you've had a crush on since you were like, five."

"Becca, come on," Bucky says, raising his hand to his eyes even though there's no one there to see him being embarrassed.

"I think it's sweet. Well, that part of it anyway."

They're both quiet for a moment, and then Becca sighs. "Fair warning, Mom's really going for it hard with this Vampire-Human Alliance stuff. If I were you, I would fully expect to get a bunch of VHA pamphlets pretty soon, or at the very least, a link to their website."

"Do I even want to know," Bucky says, half-laughing but half not. Winifred Barnes in fully supportive mode is enough to make anyone blanch. There couldn't have been a louder or more enthusiastic PFLAG coordinator, and if the VHA wanted someone to talk about acceptance or whatever, Winifred was going to place herself squarely at the top of their list, he had a feeling.

"I mean it's sweet of her," he says, knowing that Becca will understand exactly where he's coming from. "But I'm not sure I want to be part of the vampire community, if such a thing even exists, much less trying to strengthen ties between vampires and humans."

"Oh there's a vampire community all right. You can also look forward to hearing about how they do it in New Orleans."

They both laugh, and when Bucky hangs up, he feels like he's always felt with Becca, like it's the two of them against the world, and just maybe their parents.

All in all, it goes better than probably any big vampire reveal in the history of vampirism, which is why it's weird that as the new year approaches, he finds himself feeling a little let down. He doesn't know why.

"Everything okay?" Steve asks the night of the thirtieth. They're watching a really dumb movie, having both already eaten, and at some point in the first thirty minutes or so, Steve just reached over and pulled Bucky up into his lap, and now Bucky is watching the movie sideways, more slumped against Steve than actually sitting up, and Steve's big hand is tracing up and down his spine. It feels nice, and Bucky wasn't aware that he was moping, but he guesses he's snarked about the movie probably eighty percent less than he ordinarily would have. 

"I guess I'm not really feeling the whole New Year's Eve thing," Bucky says, after a moment of mental inventory. "Everything went better than I could have possibly expected with my family, so I don't know why I'm feeling a little down."

Steve's quiet for a moment, thoughtful, his hand moving on Bucky's back, his heart thumping a steady beat beneath Bucky's ear. "Maybe because you were braced for something bad to happen," he offers. "You had all that energy put into managing your response, and now you don't have to, and now you don't have anywhere for it to go." 

"Maybe," Bucky says. It sounds more plausible than anything else. It's dumb to feel let down when he _didn't_ fight with his family. "I just don't feel like going out to bars or clubs or anything tomorrow night. I know we've been invited to a couple of things." Natasha is throwing a party, for one, and Sam has organized a bar crawl, both of which should sound like fun, and an opportunity for Bucky to be the center of attention, which usually he loves, and did even before the whole vampire thing. But right now he guesses he's feeling like he wants to be inside more of a protective shell, although he'll probably have a good time once he gets there.

"Just because we've invited doesn't mean we have to go," Steve says.

"I don't want to keep you from having fun," Bucky says, and tries to make it convincing. He probably fails.

Steve chuckles, a low rumble in his deep chest that reminds Bucky that there are banked fires there.

"As long as we're together, I'll be having fun no matter what. We can see our friends another time if you're not feeling New Year's Eve." Steve's hand stills on Bucky's back for a moment, and then resumes stroking up his spine, moving up to tangle gently in his hair. "I just had an idea. Can I surprise you?"

Bucky feels a stir of interest. "Sure," he says.

"It'll just be the two of us," Steve assures him.

"If you're sure you don't mind," Bucky says.

"There'll be other years," Steve says. "Other years to be surrounded by people. There's nothing wrong with taking this one just for us."

🧛

Bucky doesn't worry too much about whatever it is that Steve has planned; he trusts Steve to do something fun, and he's touched that Steve is coming up with something for just the two of them, considering that their original plans had been with all their friends. But he's feeling a little fragile, especially strange considering that everything had gone his way, but, he thinks, in addition to the point that Steve had made, about him still being braced for a fight he wasn't going to have, he thinks, too, that part of it was that even though he still had his family, and hadn't given up the holidays forever, never again would he celebrate them quite the way he used to help. Maybe that was something that most young adults had to deal with, but instead of easing into something different, he'd had the option of the same cut off from him forever.

Whatever it is, he doesn't like the feeling. He hopes he can stop moping, and if he can't, he hopes that Steve will be patient with him.

The evening of the thirty-first, he wakes after the sunset with a pleasant feeling of anticipation buzzing along his spine. Steve's already up, of course—he doesn't need as much sleep as an ordinary human, but Bucky has the feeling that if he had, he'd have just switched his schedule around to match Bucky's anyway.

Some evenings, Bucky feeds as soon as he wakes up, and sometimes he waits a while. Usually if they're going out, he goes ahead and eats, because while he doesn't mind publicly drinking and making out with random club goers if he has to feed on someone besides Steve, he doesn't ever want Steve to feel like he has to be more public about that kind of thing that he wants to just because Bucky's hungry. He knows that Steve would do whatever he needed, whenever and wherever he needed it, but that doesn't mean that Steve doesn't have a sense of modesty, and Bucky wants to keep that as much in mind as Steve keeps everything about him in mind.

Since they're going out, he's prepared to eat immediately, but when he reaches for Steve, Steve leans in and gives him a very gentle kiss on the lips.

"Let's wait a bit," Steve says, cupping his hand around Bucky's jaw and leaning in to kiss him again.

"Yeah?" Bucky doesn't pretend not to be disappointed, and Steve smiles, eyes twinkling, and leans in to kiss along his jaw, from his chin to his ear, and Bucky can't be sad about that.

"Just in case, I don't think you want to do this on a full stomach." Steve's hand trails down Bucky's bare chest, tracing the line from the notch in his collarbone to his navel. "Dress warmly."

Bucky frowns. "Steve—are we going on a roller coaster? Because let me remind you that the last time we did that, it wasn't me who threw up."

"We're not going on a roller coaster," Steve says, smiling, and then leaves the room without divulging anything further.

Bucky grumbles himself as he gets dressed. It's sweet of Steve to worry about the temperature, although of course it won't affect him. But maybe they're going somewhere where other people might see, and it would look weird if Bucky were wearing a t-shirt and shorts in the tail end of December.

He dresses instead in a soft sweater and a heavy peacoat, comfortable, but also thick and warm.

"You look good," Steve says appreciatively when he comes out of the bedroom. "Good enough to eat."

"That's my line," Bucky complains, and reels Steve in for a kiss. Steve's beard is soft and when Bucky threads his fingers through to Steve's hair, his hair feels like silk against his skin. 

Bucky could almost suggest they ditch whatever Steve's plan is just to stay home, but Steve says, "Are you ready to go?" with such a hopeful tone of voice that Bucky can't resist.

Parts of learning about Steve's dragon wealth had been learning about Sarah's collection of cars. She hadn't been able to take them with her to Ireland, so they were still in the garage where they had been most of Bucky's childhood. Sarah collected cars. She liked them. She found something amusing about being a dragon who drove herself places. She got a new car every decade or so, but if the old ones were still working, she didn't get rid of them. So Steve has, Bucky has learned, a vast collection of cars in a private garage, all of them much nicer than one would think a nurse's salary could afford. Steve is more or less indifferent to cars—he doesn't hoard them the way his mother does—but he knows how to drive, and he enjoys it. They walk to the garage and Steve makes a show of picking out the car he wants, although Bucky could've told him that he'd be taking the Audi like he usually does, and they load up.

Bucky watches the road goes by, a little mystified, as Steve drives them out of the city for a couple of hours, to a park which is, technically, closed, and Bucky is left wondering if Steve has suddenly developed a penchant for camping, and if so, how to tell him that Bucky is not exactly the roughing it type of guy. They pull into a little parking lot completely bereft of other cars, and considering the temperature and what night it is, Bucky's not exactly surprised.

"What exactly are we doing?" he asks as they step out of the car.

Steve turns to him almost bashfully and catches his arm and reels him into his broad chest. Bucky goes willingly, of course, happy as always to touch Steve. "We keep talking about me taking you flying, and this seems like a really good opportunity to do it. It's unlikely that anyone will see us, and, I don't know." He shrugs, still with that shy smile. "It felt like something special for just the two of us." 

Bucky is more excited than he knows what to do with. Flying! With Steve! This is a big, important part of Steve's life. He doesn't get to do it as often as he would like, being an urban dragon; Bucky knows that when Steve has gone to visit other dragons, being able to fly has been a high point of those trips, and he knows that Steve has gotten in some flying with Sam, a fact about which he's had to pretend not to be insanely jealous. The logistics of flight for the city dragon are more complicated than for his country cousins, who get to launch themselves into the air at will. Steve has to put more planning into it, and the fact that he's put the planning into it to do it with Bucky, to make it special for both of them—Bucky is thrilled. He turns even further into Steve's embrace and presses his body tight against Steve's. 

"I couldn't be more excited," he tells Steve. "I've been looking forward to this."

"Good," Steve says softly. "Me too." Then a look of concentration crosses his face, he smiles at Bucky, and the air around him ripples and there's a silver dragon where Steve was standing. Bucky reaches out and runs a hand over the smooth scales of his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle beneath. Steve snakes his head around to look at him fondly, and the blue of his eyes is the same, even if nothing else is. Steve will always be beautiful to Bucky, but there really is something elegant, exquisite even, about the sinuous curve of Steve's neck in this shape, and the delicate arch of his wings.

"Are you ready?" Steve's deep voice is even deeper and more of a rumble coming from a draconic chest, but like his eyes, Bucky would know his voice anywhere.

"I'm ready," he says.

"There's a bag in the trunk," Steve says. "Do you mind grabbing it?"

Bucky doesn't, of course, and when he opens the bag, there's a leather harness inside. He spares a horny moment to wonder what it would look like on human Steve, and then starts helping dragon Steve into it—starting with figuring out how the fuck to put it on. "Where does this strap go?"

"I don't know. I've never worn it before—no one's ever flown with me before, not like this."

Between the two of them, they manage to work it out, and it doesn't take too long before the harness is arranged so it's both comfortable enough for Steve and tight enough that he feels that Bucky will be secure. It's not much like any saddle that Bucky's ever seen, but then, Steve's not a horse. There's a wide strap that buckles around his ribcage, behind his shoulders and wings, and straps that buckle in across the front of his chest. There are handles for Bucky to hold onto, and a place to rest his feet so that they're not dangling off Steve's sides. There's not much to the seat, but it's more comfortable than Bucky expected. Steve has to crook an elbow to help him step up to get in place, but once he's up there, he feels pretty secure.

"Is that all right?" Steve asks, and his voice rumbles through Bucky's legs, through his entire body.

"Feels solid," Bucky says.

"Good." Steve gives an experimental pump of his wings, and the power of his muscles feels more real to Bucky than ever it has before. "Look in your jacket pocket," Steve says over his shoulder. Bucky digs into the breast pocket after rummaging through the side pockets, and comes up with a slender pair of goggles, folded into each other so that he didn't even notice them at first. He unfolds them and slips them over his head, making sure that they're secure. They're light, and the frames extend to fully protect his eyes. 

"Hold on.” Bucky wraps his hands around the leather straps and holds on. Steve's muscles bunch as his wings sweep out and then he launches himself into the sky.

For the first several moments, Bucky thinks that if this is what flight is like, maybe he should've stayed on the ground. They lurch through the air, Steve's wings beating frantically. But then they get high enough, or maybe there's a change in the air or something, and Steve's wings snap out. They glide smoothly, Steve pumping his wings only occasionally. 

There are too many clouds for Bucky to see the stars, but there are lights twinkling below like a jeweled blanket spread out beneath them. The city is a distant orange glow on the horizon, and in the dark, Bucky can make out the faint shapes of trees and buildings far beneath them. The wind whips through his hair, tugging at his coat. He relaxes the grip he'd had on the leather handles, and lets himself just enjoy the ride. 

Steve's wings beat less frequently as he settles into the flight, and he glides gracefully through the air. It's exhilarating, and when Steve tilts, turning to bank in a great circle, Bucky finds that he's laughing, a pure physical response to their flight.

Steve says something, but whatever it is is whipped away by the wind of their travel. Bucky lets go of one strap and leans down to stroke his hand over Steve's shoulder. Even through his gloves, Steve's scaly skin is warm beneath his fingertips. They fly far enough that what was an orange glow on the horizon becomes the distinct lights and buildings of the New York skyline. Bucky wonders idly how fast they're flying, but it doesn't really matter; he's just enjoying being along for the ride Steve turns, taking them back away from the city before they get too close to it. Bucky wonders if Steve knows plane schedules or just tries to stay out of the airspace, or what.

They turn back the way they came, Steve's broad wings sweeping the air. Bucky leans forward, feeling secure enough now to lean forward and wrap his arms around where the base of Steve's neck meets his shoulders, and yells, "This is wonderful. Thank you," as loud as he can, not sure if Steve is able to hear but also certain that he will reiterate the sentiment once they land. Steve makes a sound back at him, not quite a roar, but more like the call of a hunting bird, and then twists his neck like a swan's and breathes a thin trickle of flame. He doesn't flame for long, or very much, but for a few seconds, they're in a bubble of golden light, a bright glow on Steve, sharp dark shadows thrown into relief. Bucky's heart can't beat, but it swells with pride and love. This is the best gift Steve could've given him; sharing this part of himself with Bucky, letting Bucky see a new aspect of this most familiar, beloved person.

Bucky doesn't know, either, how exactly Steve navigates from the air. Bucky is a person who has trouble finding his own car in a parking lot, in a place where he, personally, left it, but somehow Steve flies them most of the way around the state, and then still manages to find the little empty parking lot with one car that they started their trip on. He circles around it in a long loop, and then they descend. It's much smoother than their ascent, and Bucky barely feels the need to white knuckle the handles in front of him. They land, and Bucky dismounts, sliding ungracefully down Steve's shoulder to land on wobbly legs. He helps Steve out of the harness, unbuckling straps and sliding it off of him. Steve transforms, reverting from beautiful dragon to beautiful man.

Bucky flings himself at him as soon as Steve is human again, wrapping his arms tight around him. "That was amazing. Thank you, thank you so much for letting me fly with you."

Steve pulls him in and kisses him, eyes glowing and hungry. "I'm glad you liked it," he says breathlessly. "I've been wanting to share that with you for a while."

"As long as we've been talking about it, I'm glad we got to do it," Bucky says, but Steve shakes his head.

"I've been wanting to take you up in the air since I first learned how to fly, when we were fifteen and I went away for the summer."

"I'm glad I didn't know what I was missing out on," Bucky laughs, but Steve shakes his head. 

"I wanted to tell you then." He looks guilty about it, even all these years later, and the wave of fondness that sweeps over Bucky is so strong it might swap him.

"It's okay," he says. "We're here now, and that was wonderful."

Steve smiles and reaches out to tuck Bucky’s tousled hair back behind his ear. "We can drive back home," he says, "or I booked us a room at a hotel close by, because I thought it would be a pain in the ass to try and drive through the city tonight. Whichever you want to do."

"Let's stay in the hotel," Bucky says immediately. He doesn't really want to drive through the throngs of New Year's Eve revelers, and he's curious to see what kind of a place Steve has found out here. Also, Steve is looking adorably flushed and pleased with himself, and Bucky really wants to bite him and jump him, not necessarily in that order.

Steve reels him in for a kiss, and there's something in his eyes that says he knows where Bucky's thoughts are trending—not, Bucky supposes, that it's terribly hard to guess; he's never claimed to be a complex or subtle creature.

Steve's thick arms wrap around Bucky, pulling him close, and his lips are cold, but his mouth is hot, and Bucky thinks that he could do this forever, just kiss Steve until both of their lips go numb, until they can do nothing but kiss each other. 

That's not what happens though. What happens instead is they kiss until their lips are not numb but aflame, until Bucky is rocking against Steve in an undeniably lewd fashion, aching with want. Steve is not in much better condition. His skin is hot, and his cheeks are flushed, and all Bucky can think of is the warm life moving in his veins, the life in the touch between the two of them. He's dead now, or undead, he guesses, but he's never felt more alive than he does when he's touching Steve. He slides a hand beneath Steve's sweater and jacket, to the warm skin beneath. He knows it's cold, but Steve doesn't flinch at his touch.

Instead, Steve slides his hand down to capture Bucky's with his own and says, "Let's go to the hotel and get you warmed up."

It's not far to the hotel, thankfully, which is good, because Bucky is having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Steve keeps shooting him these little glances that aren't helping matters, because he looks heated, hot with desire, and maybe the exhilaration of their flight together.

The hotel isn't exactly the Ritz, but it's not a motel either. It's something between a bed and breakfast and a boutique hotel. Steve hands over his credit card, and the woman behind the counter doesn't blink an eye at the two of them, and Bucky tries not to look like the horny vampire that he is. It's probably déclassé to jump your hot boyfriend in the hotel lobby, but the temptation is strong.

Steve hefts up both suitcases, refusing to let Bucky carry one even though Bucky is also supernaturally strong and a creature of the night or whatever and could pick up a car, much less a couple of suitcases. But it makes Steve happy to treat Bucky as though he's some kind of spoiled child, unable to lift a finger on his own behalf, and Bucky can't say that he minds Steve taking care of him. The two of them walk up the steps to their room, and when Steve gestures for Bucky to walk in front of him, Buck puts a little extra sway in his step. His case of the holiday blues is entirely gone, and what's left in its absence is a deep contentment. He's happy that Steve is his and he is Steve's. He's happy they get this, together. And he's happy that they're about to have amazing holiday vacation sex right after their amazing holiday vacation flight. He's frankly not sure how it could get any better.

By the time they get to their door, Steve is quietly growling. He sets down the suitcase to get out the room key and Bucky can see his muscles bunch even under his coat and however many layers he's wearing underneath it. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to be a rational creature in the face of Steve being so hot at him like this. Steve gets the door open, and the two of them head inside, Bucky hot on Steve's heels. Steve drops the suitcases just inside the door and turns to pull Bucky closer to him. 

"You're a tease," he growls, and Bucky can't help but smirk as Steve's hands find the small of his back, hot and needy.

"Yeah, but it worked, didn't?" He gets his own hands under Steve's leather jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, down his arms until there's one less layer between Bucky and Steve.

Steve sweater is soft and fits him perfectly—of course it does; Bucky picked it out for him—and any other time, Bucky would admire the way it's pulled tight across Steve's wide chest and wrapped around his broad shoulders. But right now, all he can think is that he wants it off, wants to touch that hot skin, get his hands and mouth on him. He starts to tug at Steve's sweater, and Steve growls again and pulls it impatiently over his own head, catching the shirt he was wearing beneath it as well. Bucky reaches out and slides his hands down Steve's ribcage, savoring the softness of his skin, the thump of the blood beneath. 

Steve is none too patient either, and he bats Bucky's hands away in favor of getting Bucky's clothes off. Bucky will allow it, mostly because the thought of pressing his body against Steve's is even more enticing than just touching him with his hands. Steve interrupts his own work now and then to kiss and lick at Bucky's exposed skin, and every touch of his hot mouth sends Bucky a little further into a wild whirlwind of desire. He's starving, for the feel of Steve's skin against his own, for the feel of Steve's desire pressing against him, and, yes, for the feel of Steve's life pulsing in his mouth. He's not exactly proud of the way he wants to consume Steve in every way possible, but he's come to accept that that's how he is, now, and to let himself believe that Steve is happy with him this way. Steve's certainly done his best to prove it to Bucky, again and again, and it would be a dick move on Bucky's part not to believe him.

Steve tosses Bucky's shirt to the side and starts in on his pants, fingers stroking softly over the sensitive skin between Bucky's navel and his waistband before undoing his fly. Bucky doesn't technically have to breathe anymore, but his breath is coming in short pants anyway now, an unconscious expression of desire. His skin tingles where Steve has touched it, and he feels like a tulip, always turning to face the sun. He can't help it; his want for Steve is constant, unchanging from his life to his death. Steve tugs his pants down and Bucky steps out of them, and then Steve pulls his own pants down even more impatiently. Bucky can't say he's sorry to see the signs of Steve's eagerness, since he in turn is just as eager.

"Finally," Bucky mutters when both of them are naked, and Steve puts his hands on Bucky's hips and pushes into him, crowding him backward toward the bed. Bucky doesn't mind—quite the contrary. He loves the feel of Steve manhandling him, and Steve knows it. Bucky's hard and wanting, and Steve's in much the same state, and at moments like these, Bucky is forcibly reminded that for all that he's a predator, Steve is too. There's a low rumble in his chest, and when he kisses a line from Bucky's jaw to his collarbone, there's a hint of teeth in his kisses. But the reminder that Steve can be dangerous as well does nothing more than excite Bucky. Steve is a predator and Steve is dangerous, but all of that power is gentled for Bucky. It's a heady feeling, and Bucky relishes it.

Steve maneuvers them both to the bed and pushes Bucky onto it. Bucky drops back and lets his legs fall open, propping himself up on his elbows to look up at Steve. For all that he thought about consuming Steve earlier, Steve is looking at him like he wants to devour him, eyes glowing and the corners of his mouth ticking up into a wicked smile.

"See something you like?" Bucky says.

"Yes," Steve replies simply, looking Bucky over from head to toe.

Steve straddles his legs, looming above him. Bucky reaches out and digs his fingers into Steve's thighs. He loves looking up at Steve like this, loves the way that even though he's a pretty tall guy himself, Steve can make him feel small.

"Are you hungry?" Steve asks in a low voice. He sets a finger in the center of Bucky's chest and trails it down slowly, tracing through the sparse hair on Bucky's abdomen, the dip of his navel and the gentle curve of his belly. He stops just before he gets to Bucky's straining cock.

"Now who's a tease," Bucky gasps, because yes, of course he is.

Steve smirks. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

"You know it is." Bucky slides his hands up Steve's thighs, over his hipbones. "Yes, I'm hungry, but I can wait, if you want to."

Steve shakes his head. "Now why would you think I'd want to do a thing like that?" He wraps his hand around Bucky's cock, and Bucky throws his head back on the bedspread, arching up to meet Steve's touch. He hisses in an indrawn breath, and his fangs have been aching to pop out since they were kissing in the parking lot, so he stops trying to control it.

"There you go," Steve murmurs and leans over to press a thumb against the edge of one sharp incisor. Bucky freezes for second, which is stupid, because he's going to bite Steve very soon, but the thumb was not his plan, and his teeth are razor-sharp, and he doesn't want to hurt Steve inadvertantly—as opposed to how much they'll both enjoy it when he hurts him on purpose. Steve chuckles and runs his thumb lightly over Bucky's teeth, just enough to slice it open and let a drop of blood fall onto Bucky's tongue.

It tastes good—good is an inadequate word. It tastes amazing, like light and sunshine and summer, things that he's not meant for any longer, but which he gets to have anyway, through Steve. He turns his head just enough to get his teeth away from the cut Steve has made, and sucks, licking over Steve's skin. Steve groans, and bends down so that he's more lying on top of Bucky then kneeling over him, and Bucky takes advantage of this to, shamelessly pressing his body against Steve's. Their cocks aren't quite lined up right at this angle, but when Bucky hitches his hips, his dick slides along Steve's hip, and Steve's hard cock presses into the soft skin of his stomach. He rocks his body up against Steve's again, delighting in the way it makes him moan. Steve pulls his thumb out of Bucky's mouth carefully, and Bucky can't help but chase up after it, licking at the cut, which is already closing.

"How do you want me?" Steve says breathlessly, and the answer is all the ways, always, but that's not what he means, Bucky knows.

He tries to bring back the poor scattered remnants of his sex- and blood-crazed brain, so he can give Steve what they both want, what Bucky needs. Bucky sits up and threads his fingers through Steve's soft, thick hair so he can kiss him, careful of his fangs. 

"I want you to lie down on the bed," he decides. Steve kisses him back, and then lies back how Bucky asked him. He's got enough of the remnants of his summer tan that he looks golden, splayed out for Bucky's pleasure on the hotel bed. Bucky kisses his way down Steve's body, starting at his neck; he thinks Steve is surprised that he doesn't immediately bite, but he's got other plans in mind. He kisses his way down Steve's chest stopping to grope his massive pecs a little, licking and sucking at his nipples. Steve gasps, breathing in harshly as Bucky teases him—and he is teasing, now, but who can blame him, he thinks, for wanting to watch Steve come apart? 

He licks his way down Steve's stomach, running his thumb down the crest of his hip, moving more slowly than he personally would be able to bear. Steve's hand finds his head, and his fingers dig into Bucky's hair. Bucky moans, and licks his way up Steve's cock. Steve strains forward, his hips rocking up into Bucky's mouth. Bucky savors the taste of him, the feel of soft skin and hard flesh. Then he leans back, because he doesn't think he can put his teeth away right now. Instead, he wraps his hand around Steve's dick, slick with his own saliva and Steve's pre-come, and strokes him as he presses delicate kisses over his hip, working his way down until his mouth is poised over Steve's femoral artery.

"Yes," Steve says. "Do it."

So Bucky does. He opens his mouth wide and sinks his fangs in, piercing Steve's skin to get to the blood below. His fangs are sharp enough that though there's some pain, it shouldn't be too much, and leave a clean wound that will heal quickly.

Besides that, there's the power of his bite. He can't explain how his bite gives pleasure, but he knows that it does. Steve tosses his head back and sighs Bucky's name. Bucky feels the echo of his pleasure in his own body, and rocks his hips against the bed sheets. His desire is a knife's edge, sharp and piercing him, but it's almost nothing compared to the feeling of drinking in Steve's blood. The flavor is rich and sharp and smoky, and it pours through his body like golden light, Steve's life flowing into him and bringing life within him where there's none. He sucks a little harder, and Steve's cock jumps under his fingers, and Bucky's pleased at the tangible sign that Steve wants what Bucky can give him, too. He turns his attention back to Steve while he drinks, stroking him at a steady, slow pace, intended only to increase his pleasure, not bring him to the breaking point. Steve gasps out his name as he drinks deeper, and some primal part of Bucky thinks _, mine, mine_.

Steve is writhing on the bed by the time Bucky's drunk his fill, and Bucky feels sated in one way but still hungry in another, his body still full of tension that has yet to be released. He licks at Steve's wound to help it close—and not to waste a drop of Steve's blood—while Steve tugs gently at his shoulders, trying to draw him up. He's impatient, but Bucky understands it; he's impatient too.

The wound is closed, and Bucky feels not only hot with desire, but literally hot, Steve's blood lending him some of his dragon warmth, if only for a time. Bucky prefers that Steve fuck him after he's drunk his fill, even though Steve has told him more than once that the cold of Bucky's body is not a turn off in the slightest. Still, Bucky can't help but feel self-conscious about it, especially because he loves Steve's warmth so much.

He kisses his way back up Steve's torso, and when he gets even with Steve's face, Steve pulls him tight, kissing him eagerly. Bucky's just as eager in return, skin tingling all over with the need to be pressed close to Steve, to touch him and be touched.

And touch they do; Steve never makes Bucky wait for anything he wants or needs, and even though he's no longer hungry, god, he wants this. He spares a thought to getting Steve inside him, but there's so much of a production involved in getting ready for it, and he doesn't want to wait right now. He looks at Steve's gorgeous body, spread out in front of him, and makes up his mind. 

"Fuck my thighs," he says, gasping, and turns on the bed so he's lying on his side, facing Steve. Steve leans off the bed and comes back up with a bottle of lube, which he offers to Bucky.

"No, you do it," Bucky says, and Steve doesn't hesitate, but slathers a handful onto the palm of his hand.

"Look at you," Steve says, wiping his wet hand down the soft flesh of Bucky's inner thighs, then tracing up the line of Bucky's cock. The slide of his wet hand up Bucky's skin is almost unbearably good, sending sparks of pleasure through Bucky’s whole body.

"Steve," Bucky gasps tilting his head back, and Steve takes his hand away, only to wipe it down his own dick, getting it wet.

He fits his hands around Bucky's hip bones, and thrusts forward, and they both look down, watching as Steve's dick slides between Bucky's thighs. Bucky holds them tight together, flexing his thigh muscles to make it feel as good as he can for Steve. Steve's cock slips back and forth, wet and red, and the sight of it makes Bucky feel nearly crazed with desire. Steve’s a good grip on his hips and is thrusting as though he's fucking Bucky. Bucky wraps his hand around his own cock, jerking himself in time with Steve's thrusts. It's so good—too good, he doesn't know how he got so lucky as to have this. He leans forward and kisses Steve, clumsy with lust. Steve kisses him back for a moment, and then turns his head to the side, exposing his neck, and Bucky's not really hungry, but he can take a hint when it's handed to them on a platter, so he leans forward and bites Steve, hardly more than a nick, just enough to get a little blood and, apparently, to make Steve absolutely lose his mind.

Steve thrusts forward again, and his hips stutter. Bucky can feel his cock pulse between his legs, moving against his skin, and this sensation reverberates through him like a plucked violin string, and he was already so close that it tips him over the edge.

"Oh," he gasps into Steve's neck, and then Steve's broad hand is wrapping around his cock, sliding up and down as he comes, and Bucky can't imagine how anything could feel better than this.

They cling to each other, catching their breaths, Bucky at least trying to bring back the remnants of his poor, addled brain from wherever they're scattered.

Steve disappears to the bathroom while Bucky splays on the bed, boneless and contented and satisfied, and Steve comes back with a warm towel which he uses to clean up Bucky's unresisting body. Then he wraps his warm self all around Bucky until Bucky feels surrounded and loved in every possible way.

"You're not tired, are you?" Steve says. Bucky snorts a laugh. 

"I haven’t even been up that long. I'm not tired. Just happy." Steve croons in his chest a rumbling, not quite human sound that Bucky cherishes.

"I brought some champagne," Steve says softly. "If you want to ring in the new year." 

Bucky turns over and kisses him. "That’s exactly what I most want to do," he says.

They can't see any city lights from their hotel room, but when Steve pulls back the curtain on the windows, they can see stars through the tall trees around the hotel. Neither one of them bothers putting on clothes, and Steve pulls a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from an insulated bag in his suitcase. There are also a set of crystal champagne flutes, and what looks like yards of heavy black cloth.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve smiles. They've turned off all the lights except the lamp by the bed, so his face is lit with a soft golden glow, in contrast to the dark Knight out of the window. "They've got heavy enough curtains to keep out the sun," he says, nodding toward the window, "but I didn't know."

"I love you," Bucky says, as Steve untwists the metal around the cork and slowly turns it.

"I love you too," Steve says, smiling at him. The cork comes loose with a pop, and Steve pours them both a glass. They sit on the bed next to each other, naked skin pressed to naked skin, watching the stars outside of the window.

"Thank you," Bucky says. "This was really the perfect way to spend this night. Thank you for skipping out on the parties, and thank you for sharing this with me."

"It was perfect for me too," Steve says. "There's really not anywhere else I'd rather be but with you."

That, Bucky thinks, is a sentiment he can drink to. He raises his glass and clunks it against Steve's, and then both of them take a sip. The fizz of the champagne tastes like happiness in his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t know what his future holds, or what will happen between now and next year’s holidays. But his family knows what he is and loves him anyway, and somehow he has the love of the best person he knows, man or dragon. And if he has that—Steve loving him—then he knows the two of them can face anything together. 

And that makes for a hopeful future, no matter what else the world throws at them. 

🧛🧛🧛

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read _hold that thot,_ you may remember a passing line that mentioned Winifred's death. Well, the nice thing about fic is that I decided it would be more fun to have Bucky have to tell his family about being a vampire and deal with that fallout, so I went back and changed it so I could do this. :D 
> 
> I'm really happy that 2020 is almost over, and also it's my birthday, so this is my end-of-year/unbirthday gift to you. 
> 
> I'm on twitter @deisderium <3


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